


stronger with every breath

by fireflywitch



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Introspection, Prince "I'm Never Happy" Zuko and His Thoughts About the Four Elements, Propaganda, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, and everything in between
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-25 07:35:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30085656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fireflywitch/pseuds/fireflywitch
Summary: He supposed he knew the four elements about as well as anyone could—other than the Avatar. He’d certainly been attacked more by the four elements than anyone. Maybe that counted for something.//At four crossroads in his life, Zuko contemplates weakness and strength, failure and mercy, the lies that he's told himself, and his place among the four elements.Prompt: Zuko & bending
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	stronger with every breath

The Air Temple smelled like death, and Zuko forgot the pain in his eye as his stomach clenched in nauseated terror. He hadn’t really… well, he hadn’t really _considered_ that…

Ninety-seven years was a long time. But it wasn’t long enough.

What was he doing here? Leading this strange, unsightly team of men who’d decided that banishment under a failure of a prince was better than whatever else they faced. Leading them to the impossible, he could hear their whispers.

The Air Nomads were gone. Their army had lost. They were weak, peasant fools who refused to surrender their unnatural lifestyle to be bettered by the greatest empire to exist.

The Air Nomads were gone. Except one of them. Zuko needed to believe that.

Zuko didn’t understand the Air Nomads. He didn’t even really understand airbending. Fire came from within, powerful and strong, wild and untamed. Air just…existed. How could it become a weapon? But that was why they lost. That was why they needed to be gone.

(Zuko took a step and felt a crunch under his foot and his stomach clenched again, but he wouldn’t show any weakness in front of these men who stared at his bandaged eye in revulsion and pity, he wouldn’t he wouldn’t he wouldn’t.)

He needed to be stronger. Needed to hold himself together. Needed to keep his eyes (eye) steady ahead, and not towards the ground where the bones crowded together in pointless huddles. Needed to remember to breathe.

The body he stepped on was small and shrunken. A child.

_Breathe._

There was a larger body crouched beside it protectively. Zuko didn’t understand how there were still so many bones, how the fire hadn’t just obliterated everything. Why didn’t they surrender?

_Breathe._

They should have accepted defeat, Zuko told himself desperately. He could hear one of the men vomiting outside. He could feel Uncle’s grim presence, strangely silent from when they’d entered the cavernous room. He must have known. They should have accepted defeat. Or they should have run, run from inevitable death, run far away—

Zuko had been taught the Air Nomads were cowards. He tried very hard to hold onto that thought. But another thought wormed in painfully. They hadn’t been given the chance to surrender.

_Breathe_.

Mercy was for the weak. Fire had no mercy—it was powerful and strong, wild and fearsome. Firebenders had no need to carry pouches of water or make contact with stone. Fire came from the breath itself, impossibly dangerous, and—

(You never saw it coming. Zuko hadn’t.)

He knew he needed to be a better bender. That’s why Uncle had come, he knew. Uncle used to be great before his failure at Ba Sing Se. Uncle could teach him to become great. Uncle would help him capture the Avatar, and Zuko would be welcomed home a hero, and his father would look at him without _failure_ in his eyes.

(Father still appeared in his dreams. A shadow, a worthless breath of hope, and then fire that poured into the back of his skull, the smell of his hair burning, the pain even stronger than fear, and he would wake up screaming. Uncle never asked what he dreamt about, and Zuko never told him.)

He hadn’t deserved his father’s mercy. Mercy was for the weak. And fire had no mercy. So, Zuko would be merciless, too. He would find the cowardly Avatar, the last—

A sudden wind whipped through the cavernous, tomb-like spires of the temple, and Zuko’s only thought as he felt himself slip, gravity terrifyingly real, was blank shock. It had come from nowhere, a violent and wild wind that was going to send him to his death, he was going to _die_ here, just another corpse among thousands.

He didn’t even have the chance to scream—

Uncle’s hand found him, gripping him tightly, and pulling him from the edge. Another man was not so lucky, his curdling scream hanging in the air as he plummeted down, down, down. Zuko forgot how to breathe again.

“We must be careful, nephew,” said Uncle, and there was something caught in his voice. “The Air Nomads did not have much to fear from an occasional wind. But we are not airbenders.”

Zuko almost responded—through his crashing adrenaline, he heard it as an insult—but no. That wind, so sudden and unpredictable, where it had once merely existed around them. And suddenly, his image of the most cowardly and strange of the benders, of what he’d always assumed was the weakest of the four elements…

Zuko shuddered. Fear curled in his lungs, and with a wave of nausea, he remembered how easy it was to take breathing for granted. 

\--

The water at the North Pole was cold, and Zuko tasted failure, sharp and sour in his mouth. This wasn’t new. But for the first time in a long time, he let it sit. Closed his eyes against the wind, and breathed failure in and out, his old friend.

He hadn’t been lying earlier, saying that failing had made him stronger, more resilient. But it also made him tired.

Why had he extended a hand to the man who’d tried to kill him? The man who’d attempted to kill the _moon_ , something even Zuko saw as extremely short-sighted. And Zuko had offered his hand, only to see Zhao turn away.

Uncle would say that Zhao’s pride and arrogance destroyed him. Uncle would say Zuko had done something honorable, offering mercy to a man who didn’t deserve it.

To Zuko, mercy and failure had the same bitter heaviness in his mouth. Fire was not merciful. Fire was supposed to consume everything in its path, bowing before no one, rage so intense that it came to life and set forth to conquer. Fire was the superior element. If it wasn’t, then what was the war—

Zuko shook his head. These were treasonous thoughts, little poisonous whispers that couldn’t seem to leave him alone. He needed to be stronger, made of steel, so these thin cracks would stop growing and cutting away at him.

The Avatar wasn’t an old master. He was a twelve-year-old child.

_Crack._

The Avatar saved him from Zhao, waited for him to wake in the forest, and asked in a voice that was too young if they could’ve been friends in another time.

_Crack_.

Zuko hadn’t been left to die in the arctic tundra, a fate he deserved after failing again. Capturing the Avatar just to freeze to death in the snow? Azula would laugh. He was going to die cold and alone, far away from the steady hand of the sun, deep in Water Tribe territory. Uncle might never find the body. Another loss.

The Avatar had showed him mercy.

_Crack_.

He didn’t deserve their mercy. How could he deserve their mercy? His only goal in life gnawed at him alive, breaking him down and rebuilding him into a creature possessed with burning failure and vengeance against a twelve-year-old. He’d tried to capture them, tried to kill them, chased them across the entire world—unrelenting fire, leaving destruction in its wake. Broken villages that the Avatar had just happened to pass through. Fire wasn’t merciful, fire wasn’t supposed to leave any survivors, it was just the natural order of things.

Fire was angry and Zuko was so angry, and fire made messes too impossible to clean up, and Zuko had made about a thousand mistakes over the years, and fire was hot and all-consuming rage that gave Zuko something to live for, something to fight for.

It might be enough, if not for his sister. But then, that was with most things, wasn’t it?

Azula’s infamous blue flames, her cold determination yielded fire that was _perfect_.

Uncle would say fire wasn’t meant to be that cold. Uncle would say fire came from the breath, and Azula might think she controlled the flames but the flames always controlled you.

This didn’t prevent his sister from being an extraordinarily talented firebender, a prodigy. So, then did it matter what kind of fire raced through her veins?

Zuko thought about the waterbender who’d fought him, moving the ice and snow with a mastery so unlike before. _A prodigy_ , the voice whispered. _Just like the Avatar. Just like Azula_.

Waterbending always seemed cold to him. More detached and graceful, pushing and pulling like the moon. It was defensive where fire was offensive, fluid where fire was sharp. Capable of healing while fire burned and burned and burned.

Not that water wasn’t dangerous, and Zuko could attest to that, feeling the cold weigh him down and surround him for miles, knowing that drowning was a distinct possibility, dragged under the cold depths of nothingness. But water seemed capable of mercy, at least. Redirecting an attack into something else, ending fights instead of starting them. It was difficult to end a fight with firebending, since the fire would continue to burn.

His father would say that made the waterbenders weaker. His father would say that weakness, their element, made them destined to lose, to bow before the unrelenting flames. Fire did not listen when someone begged for mercy, fire burned a child’s face to burn away the weakness.

Zuko rolled over, looking at the vast expanse of water surrounding them. Fire would do nothing for them here. Fire could not burn the ocean. And wouldn’t matter if Zuko asked the ocean for mercy—one, he’d just seen the ocean spirit murder hundreds of soldiers and that had become a definite staple of his nightmares—two, the ocean was too powerful, too old, immune and uncaring of anyone, let alone banished Fire Nation princes.

It was almost comforting. Zuko knew the sea well, had sailed on it for three years, and it didn’t matter. The ocean would kill him without any hatred or pity, it just would. So, maybe waterbenders were more merciful, or else Zuko wouldn’t have made it this far, but the ocean certainly wouldn’t show him any forgiveness if he was complacent.

Azula would laugh at that. She would be the one to challenge the sea, demand that it fell into order, demand p _erfection_ from it. And if anyone could, Zuko truly believed it would be his sister, but…

The flames and the sea bowed to no one, not even each other. Neither could be controlled, both were chaotic and ancient and merciless. One of Zuko’s fingers brushed out and touched the salty cold surrounding him, and death was so close he could almost see skeletal hands reach out and grab him, but Zuko was bad at dying.

He would get away. Away from an uncaring sea and the floating chunks of ice and drowned, bloated bodies. Far away from the unbearable cold and agonizing fear of drowning or dying of thirst. Too much water or not enough of it, pick one and pick wisely. Zuko was a failure, had failure branded on his skin, but he’d also failed to die.

In the end, Zuko was alive and Zhao was gone. He refused to accept mercy from an enemy. And maybe that made his death more honorable, but Zuko didn’t have any honor and had accepted mercy from his enemies _unwillingly_ , which didn’t matter, but the end result was…

Zuko was alive. Zhao was gone. Mercy was just failure spelled differently, but it meant he had another chance, and Zuko clung to his pitiful, weakness-tainted life with everything he had. Two small fires on a raft surrounded by an unforgiving sea, and Zuko would live.

\--

They were leaving the Earth Kingdom. That was what Zuko tried to focus on as the horrible walls of Ba Sing Se faded into the distance behind them, that was what he kept telling his traitorous heart.

Leaving Earth Kingdom. Coming home.

Leaving Earth Kingdom. Coming _home_.

Home was something Zuko forced himself to stop imagining. His chest would ache too much, his breaths would come short and raspy, and it wasn’t so much about any strong desire to _rule_ , but he wanted to be respected again, not given shifty-eyed looks when no one thought he would notice. He didn’t want to be someone he wasn’t, he wanted to be exactly who he was, who he was born to be.

Uncle was rejecting all of that. Choosing the protection of the Avatar over the protection of his family, of the Fire Nation. Choosing a life in Ba Sing Se where he would always have to remain hidden, able to pour tea but not _bend_. Zuko missed bending so much, missed feeling the sun on his skin and in his blood, and he didn’t know, still couldn’t understand, why Uncle made the choices that he had.

But he did. And he was coming back home, too, as a prisoner.

Traitor, whispered his thoughts. He’s been a traitor this entire time. Why do you think finding the Avatar was so difficult? Why do you think you were kept at such a basic firebending level for a _prince_? He just cared about neglecting his duties to his family, he never cared about returning home.

The voice sounded a lot like Azula. That wasn’t very comforting.

Because he wasn’t supposed to trust Azula. That had been made painfully clear to him, over and over and over again. She’d burn him alive and laugh while he screamed, and she always lied. But this seemed too much of a complicated lie, even for her, and they were beyond the walls anyway. Zuko would’ve laughed if someone had told him _Azula_ would be the one bringing him home, actually _claiming_ him as her brother.

But then.

Zuko sighed, alone in his carriage. His first time alone with his thoughts in a while. But then, he loved Azula. She was cruel and better at him in every single way, a glowing blue beacon of perfection, smart and strategic and logical, and everything Zuko wasn’t. She was a prodigy. She was lucky. She was a lightning bender, while Zuko was a struggling tea maker in the dirty slums of Ba Sing Se.

But he loved her. Another weakness Azula herself probably wouldn’t tolerate.

Traitor, whispered his thoughts. You betrayed your uncle. The only person who’s ever looked out for you, the only person who never left you, the only person who’d love someone like you, and you turned your back on him. He’ll never forgive you for this, never look you in the eyes again, horrible, ungrateful, worthless—

“Stop,” whispered Zuko, burying his head. He couldn’t look back on his decision. It was the right decision. His destiny was to capture the Avatar, his destiny was to fight for the glory of the Fire Nation, he _had_ to stay strong, or else the cracks that he’d franticly patched over would break him apart again.

You did not capture the Avatar.

_Crack._

The world hates the Fire Nation. They do not want our progress or advancement, they call us murderers, and no one here seems to care about that.

_Crack._

The water tribe girl had tried to show him mercy. Tried to forgive him, which seemed stupid and irresponsible and ridiculous, considering how he’d hunted them down, how Azula was so proud that she’d killed a twelve-year-old. The hurt and betrayal in her eyes made him nauseous, but it was her fault. For thinking for some reason that he was on their side.

_Crack._

You did free their bison, his thoughts reminded him.

“They don’t know that,” said Zuko, fully aware that being caught talking to himself wouldn’t be any good.

She said when she imagined the face of the enemy, she’d imagined his face. Zuko had no reservations about what that meant. His face was his scar, red and wrinkled skin that stained him, and that scar was what chased them around the world with murderous flames and uncontrollable rage. It was almost funny. If they were smart, they should be _much_ more scared of Azula than Zuko.

Except there was no surprise when Azula had fired on them. They were prepared for her. But there was that awful _betrayal_ in the Avatar’s eyes, when he’d joined his sister. It didn’t make any _sense_! He was the son of Ozai, he was the great-grandson of Sozin, he was the face of their enemy, and so why was every single person, including Uncle, including the Avatar (including _Zuko_ ) surprised at the way things ended up?

He thought, not for the first time, that being more like Azula would solve literally all of his problems. She was decisive where he was weak-willed, she was brilliant where he failed failed _failed_ , and she had no qualms about betraying others to reach her goals. And apparently, Zuko did, even though Azula insisted Uncle was the one who betrayed him.

Being more like Azula would fix everything. Except Azula was a monster. Everyone was terrified of her, even _mother_ was scared of her.

Except everyone fears you too, Zuko’s thoughts reminded him. The face of the enemy.

Zuko hated the Earth Kingdom. Everyone was trying to kill him, which didn’t help, but he also hated how the city had tricked him, tricked everyone. The Earth King was one of the most important people alive, and he didn’t even know there was a fucking war going on. There was no war in Ba Sing Se until it was marching through their stratified streets. There was no war until there it was, and the people inside didn’t even have a chance.

People like Uncle called the earthbenders resilient and strong, direct and confrontational, stubborn and guarded. Zuko didn’t believe that anymore. At least you expected fire to turn on you, to burn its master just as easily as someone else. At least people saw fire and were wary, didn’t trust it.

But Earth? Earth would sit there innocently until a hole dropped out from under you, sending you screaming into the darkness. Earth would build walls to divide the right kind of people from the wrong kind of people. Ba Sing Se a haven for refugees? There was no such thing. The earth stuck to you, a fine layer of dirt that made it so hard to want to continue, that made breathing harder and made hoping hardest of all.

Ba Sing Se was going to crumble on top of itself even before they’d come. Azula had just made sure it would fall where she wanted it to.

The flames and the earth had been at war with each other for a hundred years. Anyone who thought Zuko would turn away from that was a fool. He did what he had to do. He chose family (except your Uncle), chose what was _right_ (he’d never forget that horrible, betrayed expression), and he’d made the correct decision at last.

His stomach turned traitorously, bile creeping up in his throat, but he shot it down. Zuko would do everything right this time. He would be a perfect son, a perfect prince, and that was the way it was supposed to be. Zuko was going home because of treachery, his own and his sister’s, but nothing was more important than home. Nothing more important than the Fire Nation.

He dug his fingers into his leg hard enough to draw blood and pushed the pain and regret and _questions_ away. Nothing was more important than the Fire Nation. Nothing was more important than his own honor. And to have his honor restored, he did what he had to do.

Dust still clung to the hem of Zuko’s robes. He’d never felt angrier.

\--

Zuko wouldn’t call himself _happy_. He didn’t trust happiness; it always abandoned him, like clockwork, and it was better to feel nothing than be disappointed every time. But, he thought, as he and the Avatar flew away on a bison after meeting the last dragons in existence…

This had to be close.

Zuko had never felt comfortable with his own element. He’d long ago reasoned this was perfectly rational; it wasn’t like firebenders couldn’t get burned by fire—he was a walking example of _that_ , and anyway, fire wasn’t supposed to be comfortable. Fire was death and destruction and the genocide of an entire culture, and Zuko, forever caught between hating the world and hating himself, was only too happy to create fire that was fueled by rage.

He was always good at being angry.

Of course, the second Zuko figured out that his entire life was a lie (and not even a particularly well-constructed one) and made a decision he thought Uncle might once have been proud of him for, he didn’t have enough anger left. The universe did enjoy a good laugh.

And he wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not surprised in the slightest when the Avatar—Aang, he corrected himself—didn’t give up on him immediately as a teacher. He must have been really desperate.

Whatever Zuko was expecting at the end of this trip, it definitely wasn’t dragons.

They flew above the sea, grey and blue and cold below. Above the earth, grey and brown and unyielding. The bison flapped its tail, and the air surrounding them hadn’t killed them yet. And Zuko?

_Breathe._

His fire resting within him, in tune with his beating heart and every slow breath.

_Breathe._

When the dragons had reared their heads, Zuko’s prediction that fire would be what killed him after all about to come true, and he’d thrown his arms in front of his face as if it would make any difference—

Fire was death and pain and loss, but fire was also life. And if there was anything Zuko was better at than being angry, it was clinging viciously and unrelentingly to life. Fire was merciless, but the dragons hadn’t killed them. A gift, despite the dark stain Zuko and his family had cast on the world.

_Breathe._

Zuko closed his eyes, the sky cool and his chest warm.

“Hey, Zuko?” Aang’s voice floated over, and Zuko cracked his eye back open. “Do you think they were really the last dragons?”

“I didn’t think any still existed,” said Zuko. “I thought my grandfather made sure of that.”

“Did…” Aang’s voice trailed off, and Zuko waited, counting each breath and watching the exhales drift into the wind. “Did you know that your…great-grandfather and Avatar Roku were friends?”

There were a few ways he could’ve answered, but Zuko wasn’t sure if Aang would be thrilled to know that the connection went a little deeper than that. Maybe one day. “I did. Until he left him to die on a volcano.”

Aang winced, and Zuko attempted some damage control. “Uncle told me,” he said, sitting up. Uncle was usually a safe topic. Except with anyone from Ba Sing Se.

“I never wanted to learn firebending,” said Aang. “Even though I knew Avatar Roku was a firebender, and he’s always been there for me when I needed him.”

“Fire is dangerous,” said Zuko, and he only hesitated for a second before continuing. “But so is every element. In different ways.”

Aang seemed to consider that, and Zuko did, too. He supposed he knew the four elements about as well as anyone could—other than the Avatar. He’d certainly been attacked more by the four elements than anyone. Maybe that counted for something.

“I don’t want to hurt people,” said Aang, the same child who’d obliterated armies, whose eyes and tattoos glowed as ancient voices used his body as their vessel, powerful and unrelenting and impossible, all wrapped into one. And it was fire that scared him, the element that destroyed his people.

And it was in many ways, it was Zuko’s fault.

“Fire is dangerous,” said Zuko again. “But you’re lucky. I’m your teacher. And I know that better than anyone.”

He felt Aang’s eyes slide to his scar, and as the two of them hovered in the sunlit sky, the words came out of Zuko’s mouth before he could stop them. “I stood up for something,” he said. “And it took a long time for me to realize I was right.”

It had taken sitting in the same room, listening to a mockery of the nightmare that used to wake him up screaming, clutching his eye, except this time he had chosen silence, and when he walked out of that room, he finally understood that the mark meant to shame him only shamed the man who’d delivered the blow.

Fire was dangerous. That was an undeniable truth. Too many had burned because of the Fire Nation’s self-righteous hatred, and Zuko would never be able to apologize to all of them. He couldn’t heal wounds. He couldn’t bring the fallen back.

But maybe…

“I think it’s good,” said Aang, and he didn’t know the whole story, but he didn’t seem to need to. “That you know.” He bit his lip, half-apologetic and half-determined. “I can’t explain it,” he said finally. “But I think you were always meant to teach me firebending, Zuko.”

Zuko might have scoffed, remembering every time he had the chance to walk away. Every time he’d attacked them, tried to capture him, chased him up and down the corners of the world. He remembered every failure, every crack in the armor he’d desperately tried to construct around himself, the anger that ate him alive until it left nothing behind but someone who wanted to right a wrong he couldn’t possibly fix. But he was still breathing and still living, and as long as he lived he would keep trying to make things right.

He breathed, steady and calm, and allowed the smallest flame to hover above him, daring it to fall. But it stayed, pulsing gently with his heartbeat, before turning to smoke in the wind.

“I think so too,” said Zuko, and it might not have been happiness, but the easy warmth in his chest that grew stronger with every breath…

It was close enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> *dusts off hands in honor (hah) of the first time writing ATLA in....forever*
> 
> Hope you enjoyed! Zuko's is everyone's favorite to write about for a reason, so I hope I've done him justice. And really, I'm not sure anyone else *has* been attacked by the four elements as much as this kid. He knows his stuff. Would love to know your thoughts :)


End file.
